The Bracelet
by KylaBosch
Summary: Eddard notices a piece of jewellry on Sansa's wrist and discovers a hard truth he had hoped not to learn so soon. *Teen!Sansa/Teen!Sandor*


**Beta:** A massive thank you to **Underthenorthernlights** for reading this over and making it all spiffy like  
**Additional Notes:** This is part of a side project that I am currently working on pertaining to my intreptation of jewellry in Westeros.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. All this belongs to . =)

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"That's pretty, love. Where did you get that?" Eddard inquired upon noting the dainty charm bracelet that dangled from her wrist. The young maiden smiled a shy smile, her cheeks turning rosy, as her eyes fell to trinket she wore.

His calloused fingers lightly touched the little bird and dog charm, as he studied its design. It was hardly opulent by southern standards, yet elegant in its own sort of way. Jewellery was a rare thing to find in the North. In a world where survival took precedence over all else, such frivolous items was afforded only by the young. Even then, such trinkets were practical, simple even in design. This was not only elaborate, it was utterly symbolic. There was no ignoring the charms chosen, or the specific colours used to brighten the otherwise simple bracelet.

"It was a gift…from a suitor," his daughter quietly admitted, with another shy smile. By southren standards, Sansa was considered a woman grown at ten and four. However, in the North it would be a few more years before she would be expected to marry. No matter her age, in his heart, Sansa would always remain his little girl.

"This suitor is a questionable sort, if he cannot afford to speak to me of his intentions first," Eddard warned her with a frown.

"He's not like that father!" Sansa exclaimed, her fingers twirling the charms of her bracelet. "He's a good man, far more noble and chivalrous than any knight I know!" she added in firm tones.

"And how many knights have you known, dearest daughter?" he asked with a raised brow. Sansa held her father's gaze intently, reminding Eddard of her Mother. She could not win this battle, it did not stop her from trying; it never did.

"Once you told me that one day you would find me someone suitable for marriage; a man who was strong, brave, and gentle, and you have! He is my best friend, and I love him, and when we are of age we will marry, and I will give him many sons!" Sansa proudly announced.

Eddard tried to hide his disapproval. Sansa was a gentle soul; young and easily impressionable. Innocent and naïve of the hardships of the world; she was caught too far up in tall tales and songs. "This fine young suitor, does he have name?" Ned asked. He already knew who held Sansa's heart, the charms were evidence enough.

Sansa's blue eyes flicked back to the bracelet she wore, her cheeks now even rosier. "He is my sworn shield."

Sandor Clegane, self-sworn shield of Sansa Stark, had been a foster of their house since he was five years of age. It was a gesture of gratitude to his grandmother, the midwife responsible for saving Eddards beloved Catelyn and their eldest daughter from birthing complications.

Her grandson; a strapping young boy with severe burns on the left side of his face came into their lives a few short months after Sansa was born. Sansa had known Sandor all her young life and the two were inseparable. In Winterfell, the boy was often called 'The Hound' both for the sigil of his house, and his fierce loyalty to house Stark.

Eddard suspected such a day would come to pass. He never imagined it would happen so soon. The realization filled him with a sense of sorrow; his little lady was not so little anymore. Eddard recalled Lord Arryn's wisdom spoken once years ago. There were no such things as desperate measures, only desperate men. "Sansa you are still young. There are many years ahead of you, and many suitors to win your heart. Surely, you would rather a knight or a lord…even someone more…comely."

Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, would never condone the notion of marrying a man for his titles, riches, or beauty. Ned the Father, however, wanted nothing more than to protect his little princess from the inevitable hardships such a union would create. In Winterfell, such a marriage would be regarded as a fairy tale; the sort small folk would speak of for years to come. Beyond those walls, Sansa's name would be shrouded in scandal, as would the names of her children to come. Then there was Robert Baratheon; friend turned King, who made it quite clear his hopes that his eldest son Joffrey would marry Sansa. The last time Robert could not have his way, an entire kingdom was turned on its head and countless lives paid the price, including Prince Rhaegar, his wife, and the lives of his children. Eddard did not dare consider what would become of Sandor and Sansa, much less the rest of his family, should Robert learn of this turn of events.

"Father, I don't care that he's not a knight, a lord, or that he's not handsome! I want to marry Sandor!" Sansa protested. "He has a good and noble heart. I love him, and he loves me," she added in firm tones.

"And that is why you wear this bracelet. A promise of the future," Ned concluded in soft tones. In the North, it was tradition for a young beau to present their betrothed with a single piece of jewellery. In a world where such frivolities could not be afforded such personal tokens of affection and love were especially cherished.

Despite his misgivings, Eddard was not entirely in disagreement with Sansa's assessment. Sandor was a bright young warrior; one both loyal and honest to a fault. Sandor was strong, brave, and gentle, when he thought no one was watching; everything he could want for his daughter's betrothed. Looking back, it was clear that the young man had deep feelings for his daughter. It was a truth he had denied for far too long. If only Sansa were older, if only Sandor were higher born; if only Robert could forgive, if only Catelyn could understand, if only…

"Does anyone else know of this, Sansa?" he quietly asked. His daughter shook her head, her eyes falling to her hands. Gently grasping her chin the elder lord guided her sight to meet his gaze.

"Tell me Sansa, when did he give this…bracelet?"

"Sandor presented it to me yesterday evening, after the evening dinner. It was a surprise, a gift, for my name day," Sansa admitted.

When Eddard did not immediately responded his daughter grew troubled. "Please Father, don't tell mother! She won't understand I just know it!" she pleaded grasping his calloused hands with her dainty fingers.

As touching as Sansa's plight had been. Eddard had kept enough secrets from Catelyn, he could not bear to add another. "I can't do that love. But I will speak to your mother on your behalf."

"She will never approve," Sansa said in defeated tones.

"Don't be so certain," he said with a gentle smile. "In the meantime, I would ask you to keep this matter to yourself. Speak of this to no one until I have first spoken to your mother, and then to the boy. Understand?"

With a teary-eyed smile, Sansa pulled her father into a tight embrace as she whispered words of gratitude and love. Sansa was a true gentle soul; the sort found only in lost fairy tales and forgotten legends. How fast they grow, and how short their time under our care, he sadly mused. With a silent prayer to the gods of old to have mercy on his old heart, Eddard watched on as Sansa departed for the library feeling torn between joy and sorrow at the realization that his little girl was rapidly growing into a wise young woman.


End file.
